


One Emotion - Wrath

by badlifechoices



Series: Jason Todd Birthday Week 2018 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Gen, Kory - Freeform, Roy Harper - Freeform, day 1 of the jason todd birthday week, jason todd discovers frienship, mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 09:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badlifechoices/pseuds/badlifechoices
Summary: Jason always thought that if there was one emotion to describe his character, it would be anger.





	One Emotion - Wrath

He always thought that if there was one emotion to describe his character, it would be anger. When he crawled his way out from the grave, when he spent years hunting his own tracks, trying to figure out who he was supposed to be now that he was on his own; he had always thought if he ever reaches those pearly gates that they would refuse him with that one mortal sin written across his face: Wrath. He had gotten used to it, the boiling the bubbling, the burning under his skin. He had learnt to draw strength from the feeling of fury that exploded within his chest when he laid eyes on those remnants of his old life. He had replaced the dread that loud laughter sent coursing through his veins, had spent slashing away at his own fears until he could pretend that he had chased them off for good. Where before the wrong memory could’ve sent him into a crippling panic attack, after a while all it did was make his mind blank, anger, like a flame incinerating all other traces of the hopeful youth he once was.

And yet, somehow, he found that the more he burnt away, the emptier it left it. Where he was hoping to fill his own mind with rage, was nothing but ash, the vast emptiness of destruction the flame had left behind. It became harder and harder to keep it burning, he had to feed it, had to force himself deeper and deeper into his memories, into his trauma. He had nothing else left, the hurt burning on his tongue whenever he talked to someone. Every time he lashed out he felt the recoil tremble through his bones. There was another sensation that slowly took root in his heart, spread through his body like a cancer until it seemed to have taken over his whole being: He was exhausted. The flame only carried him while he was out seeking vengeance, punishing criminals, etching the name of the Red Hood deep into the criminal world. But as soon as he returned to his hideout, he found that there was nothing left to sustain him.  

In his attempt to rid himself of all his fear, all his attachment to people that had long abandoned him, he had doomed himself to be empty. The memories of his youth, the optimism, the boundless energy and the strong will to right every wrong, to protect those who needed it most; it all seemed so much farther away now. More often, than not he found himself returning to the most familiar of all streets, visiting Gotham over and over again even though there was nothing left for him there. The lifeline his anger offered him became more worn out with every day and he knew that he would fall if he couldn’t find anything else to cling to. But stalking through his familiar haunts only left him feeling more detached from himself. There was no home left for him here, no place to rest his head and find what he was looking for. And still he couldn’t leave, couldn’t bring himself to look away from the shadow the bat signal cast against the sky. It should rouse so many emotions in him, should remind him of the comfort he found in Bruce’s home, of the hurt he felt when he was replaced all so quickly after his death, of his hunger for revenge over his needless death. But there’s nothing, only the yawning void that threatened to swallow him whole.

His back against the gargoyle, Jason keeps his eyes closed. He tries to picture how he used to sit here, how he used to share all his little sorrows with the stone statue. He’d jokingly called the statue his best friend, when Bruce noticed how much time he spent up on this roof. It hadn’t been much of a joke, in retrospect, apart from Alfred and on the rare occasions that Bruce had enough time to spare, there’d been no one for him to turn to. The gargoyle had never told him how insignificant his worries were, had never turned away because it was too busy to listen to his rambling. And yet, where before there was a certain fondness bubbling in his chest for his younger self, so innocent, so lonely, there is nothing now. When he opens his eyes, he thinks he can see a yellow cape flit past his field of vision, yet when he turns his head there’s nothing there but the vacant rooftop. He sighs, slowly getting up from his crouching position and wondering why he came here in the first place. Without a last glance at the statue, he throws his grappling hook and jumps off the roof.

He travels. He tries to convince himself that this is all for the cause, to feed that slowly dying flame of hatred in his mind but he knows well enough that he’s trying to find something to fill the emptiness inside of him. But no matter where he goes, no matter what new technique he picks up, what training he receives, nothing takes away the numbing exhaustion that grows and festers in his bones.

To be honest, he himself doesn’t really know how exactly he happens upon them but suddenly he’s not alone anymore. Kory and Roy. They’re misfits just like him, abandoned by those they used to rely on, alone, outcasts. He doesn’t trust them, that’s what he tells himself, can’t rely on them and yet… There’s a part of him that feels relieved, that wants to enjoy not being on his own for once. He keeps his walls up, prickly on the outside, lashing out whenever they get too close to what he is hiding away in those darker corners of his mind. They don’t reprimand him, they joke, tell him he’s a dick most of the times but they don’t leave him either. They don’t try to understand hi, they got their own worries to deal with. They don’t question him when he disappears, when he holes himself up in his room after their missions because the exhaustion is just too much to bear, and he can’t bring himself to even think clearly. It must be obvious that he’s tired.

But they don’t leave. They’re still around. It doesn’t happen from one day to the next, it takes months for Jason to even notice it, but he feels that in the empty wasteland in his chest there is something else now, a presence maybe, an emotion that seems entirely unfamiliar to him now. It doesn’t stay, sometimes the pull of the void seems worse again, sometimes he finds himself cowering in the corner just staring at the walls for hours because it feels like nothing matters anyway. But on some days, it feels like the weight on his shoulders has grown lighter and though he would never say it out loud but he knows that somehow it has to do with his companions, friends, he dares call them in his mind. He can’t identify the feeling at first, can’t place it and yet he knows that it is something he’s been looking for.

Only after he parts ways with the two does he realise what this feeling is. It’s the same emotion he’s been trying to find in the remnants of his past, in the dark streets of Gotham and by the side of his favourite gargoyle: The feeling that he belongs. And strangely enough, even after the Outlaws as they called themselves jokingly, have split up, he finds that the feeling doesn’t disappear. It clings to him, no matter how much he tries to tell himself it’s just an annoying side effect, he knows that in the darkest nights, it keeps the cold of the emptiness away.

Jason knows that if there is one emotion to describe his character, it is anger; but he also knows that there is more to him now. And as much as he sometimes wishes to not be anything more than a mindless weapon of his own brand of justice, he finds more often enough that he’s still human.


End file.
